


The Nokia

by tea_or_die



Category: Supernatural
Genre: No Seriously it Doesn't End Happy, No happy ending here, Phone Call, Sad, Someone is Dead/Dies but if I Say Who it Spoils Things, unexplained phenomena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 04:43:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_or_die/pseuds/tea_or_die
Summary: When he was handed the outdated mobile phone, this certainly wasn't what he expected...
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Other (Suggested)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	The Nokia

**Author's Note:**

> Two months, two days of writers block, and I am back at the office for all of 20 minutes with no access to any of my computer systems when this comes pouring out into the notebook I always keep for when I'm bored. I came across a prompt in r/WritingPrompts several months ago, but never ran with it. I guess some part of my brain had other ideas and was just waiting for the right time.

The low tones of a man's voice, the clink and rattle of toy cars and a little boy's laughter joined the soft sounds of the dish sponge over glass and plates; a calming rhythm that soothes the usually restless man at the sink. His green eyes softened further as he heard "Dee's pone!" shouted gleefully by the child in the next room. Always precocious, at 3 years old he'd learned how to swipe a phone screen and answer a call when it rang. Rather than obsessively tracking their devices, they'd taught him whose phone was whose, and to answer with that person's name. 

Setting aside the last dish and wiping his hands dry on the dish towel, the man ran a hand through his sandy brown hair to see who was calling. Less than two steps away from the counter, the small boy with the big blue eyes toddled in, waving a phone in the air. 

"Dee, Dee! Is your phone!" the little one exclaimed. Oddly, though, it wasn't his sleek, shiny iPhone, but a 15 year old Nokia that he'd given the boy to play with. 

"Who's on the phone, buddy?" he asked, wondering if this was a new game that had just been thought up. 

"For  _ you _ , Dee!" is all the boy said, eyes wide as he thrusts the ancient technology into the man's hand. He takes it, immensely curious, and puts the dead phone next to his ear, clearing his throat. 

"Dean here."

He waits a beat, humoring the little one. His eyes go wide, though, and all the blood drains from his face as through the tinny speaker he hears a deep, gravelly voice. One he never expected, and one he'll never forget. 

"Hello, Dean"

Dean nearly drops the phone from the shock of hearing that voice again. A tug on his pant leg brings him back to himself and he chances a quick glance at the phone's display. Blank. The phone is definitely dead, but  _ that voice _ . 

"Cas?" he whispers, desperation palpable in that one syllable. 

"Dean, where  _ are _ you? I woke up and I was alone in the room and all our stuff is gone, I don't...just...what  _ happened _ ?"

Cas sounds scared, but Dean can barely process what's going on. He feels another tug at his pant leg, and the memories of that day that had sucked him in recede as he's grounded again in the present. 

"Just, uh, just a sec, Cas" he manages, prying the fingers from his flannel pyjamas and turning the toddler around. Tucking the phone away from his mouth, he gently herds the child towards the living room. "Run to Papa" he urges. 

"Dean, what - where are you? Who are you with? Why did you leave?"

There's real distress there, now. Dean isn't sure how to answer these questions, nor the ones he finds in the eyes of the man sitting on the couch. The little boy is now racing a yellow car against a red one on the plastic track they laid down on the floor as Dean fumbles for the words he needs. With a sigh he sinks into the overstuffed blue armchair that compliments but in no way matches the green couch. 

"Cas - " he starts. The head of the man on the couch shoots up, eyes wide and instantly inquisitive. Dean ignores him, instead struggling to say the words that sit like razor blades in his mouth. They threaten to cut him apart as they come out. He tries to make this as gentle as possible. 

"You're in the hotel in Reno, right?" he asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer. 

" _ Yes _ , Dean, the last thing I remember is you saying you'd go get us Chinese for dinner. I must have, I don't know - " he groans in frustration. "I must have taken a nap, and I just woke up on the floor, and you and all our stuff is just  _ gone _ ." There's an edge of hysteria to his voice now, and Dean scrambles for a way to break the news gently. 

"Cas," he starts quietly, "is there a calendar on the desk in the room?"

"Probably, why?" Cas demands

"Please, Cas, please, just take a look at it, Dean pleads. The phone is in a death grip against his ear. His other hand is pinching the bridge of his nose between eyes shut tightly closed against the outside world. 

"Dean, I don't understand" Cas whimpers. "This says May 2019. How?...I?...what?…" he trails off into ragged breathing. Dean isn't sure what to do. How long should he let this process. 

The question is answered by the broken sounding voice on the likewise broken phone that by all means should not be allowing him to hold this conversation.

"Dean, please tell me what's happening. I'm so scared. I'm alone and I don't know what to do"

Dean opens his eyes, and looks across at the man in front of him, then at the boy between them, as if he needs to reassure himself that the here and now is real. 

"Shit, Cas" he chokes out, the razor blades crowding behind his lips again. "Cas, it's May 22, 2019. On June 12, 2004, the Chinese place accidentally put shrimp in our lo mein."

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his mouth and jaw before continuing even quieter. "The ambulance didn't get there in time". A tear slips out, and with it the blades that cut deep into every part of Dean. He can feel the other man's tension, even over the phone. Hoarsely, he tears himself to shreds, again. 

"Cas, that night you had a severe allergic reaction. The ambulance was too slow, and you died." He's barely speaking above a whisper now. "Fifteen years, Cas. You've been dead for fifteen years."


End file.
